


You Don't Need The Wine To Have A Wonderful Time

by hepsybeth



Series: Give Those Kids and Me the Brand New Century [4]
Category: Newsies (1992), Newsies - All Media Types, Newsies!: the Musical - Fierstein/Menken
Genre: Alternate Universe - 1920s, Prohibition, also i ripped dialogue from bwe b/c why not?, obviously these boys would be prohies you're kidding yourself if you thought otherwise, this just in: the delancey brothers are assholes, this...might actually be too chapters, warning: author has never been to new york
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-04
Updated: 2018-03-04
Packaged: 2019-03-27 03:06:12
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,357
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13871766
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hepsybeth/pseuds/hepsybeth
Summary: Did the Delanceys truly deserve to be called assholes, or was assholery thrust upon them?(btw the answer is yes)





	You Don't Need The Wine To Have A Wonderful Time

**Author's Note:**

> i'm binging boardwalk empire btw lmao so like a lot of dialogue is just ripped from there srry but I can't be assed to research that much about prohies since i waste enough time as it is
> 
> also, i started writing this story one way and it ended up another way? and i meant it to focus on both brothers, but i focused more on oscar? but i don't want to rewrite it?? *shrug emoji*
> 
> title from "you don't need the wine to have a wonderful time" by eddie cantor

Delanceys were assholes. It was probably a self-fulfilling prophecy. Did the Delanceys truly deserve to be called assholes, or was assholery thrust upon them? Much like the story of the Montagues and Capulets, it was unknown where truth ended and rumor began. 

Despite these rumors, the Delanceys thrived as best they could. Once England was no longer a home to him, Theodore Delancey traveled to the shores of the great nation of America.

Theodore married a young woman named Rebecca, and they were both assholes. They were cruel to outsiders and notoriously dishonest, but they loved each other deeply. And they loved their two sons with all their hearts. For every insult Rebecca would hurl at the milkman, there were smothering kisses for her boys. For every stolen wristwatch or bar fights Theodore would instigate, there were never-ending hugs he would give to his family. 

But for Delanceys, good things never lasted.

The family fell on hard times during the winter of 1908. The factory where Theodore worked, and had previously pulled a fairly decent wage from, burned to the ground as a result of some electrical malfunction. Left with no job, and not much money, the thieving and conning that had once been a hobby for the husband and wife increased exponentially. But for all the money the husband and wife stole, Oscar and Morris hardly saw any of it. What wasn’t spent on milk and bread and the occasional new shoes was spent on gin and whiskey and rum. Bottles covered the floor of the couple’s room, took up most of the space on the kitchen table. When their pa slept half the day away, he was “down in the dumps” as their mother put it, and Oscar hated it. When their pa snapped at Morris for sleepwalking and knocking things to the ground, he was “going through a rough patch”, and Oscar despised it.

If the nauseating smell of booze and vomit that permeated every furnished object in the house wasn’t enough, if his pa and ma living each passing day more asleep than awake hadn’t crossed the line, it was the violence that the alcoholism caused that planted the seeds of loathing into Oscar’s young heart. Theodore and Rebecca were no longer assholes just to strangers and it right. Theodore stalked around their farm home with a beer bottle in one hand and a ready fist with the other. Their mother added roughly slapping her boys and screaming with slurred words to her daily routine.

Oscar and Morris watched their parents regress into imbeciles and when the day came when Theodore and Rebecca Delancey decided they no longer wanted children, Oscar felt more relief than anything else. The morning they slipped out of the house, Morris was still asleep in the bed he shared with Oscar. Oscar, however, watched the sputtering automobile slowly disappear down the road from where he sat on the roof of their house. Oscar didn’t know for sure whether or not his parents were planning on coming back, and he especially didn’t know that in their drunken haze, they would end up crashing the car before they even left the state (he vaguely remembered them talking about visiting Chicago). Despite not knowing any of these things, Oscar hugged himself on his lonely place on the roof and squeezed his eyes shut, praying, more earnestly than he ever had before, that his parents would never return.

Soon thereafter, their uncle Abraham Weisel traveled up to their farm.

* * *

 

Uncle Wiesel wasn’t really their uncle and only Oscar knew this and there was nothing to gain by telling his brother this. He had learned long ago that Abraham Wiesel was just an old friend of his mother. He didn’t know the specifics of the relationship, but he wasn’t her brother. He was neither her cousin. They were just old friends and sometimes old friends become family. 

When their uncle arrived at their house, it had been two days since the untimely disappearance of the boys’ parents. Oscar maintained order as best as an eleven-year-old could and Morris learned not to ask where “ma and pa” were after the fourteenth time of Oscar saying varying versions of “I don’t know”. They woke, they ate, they played games, they wrestled, and they went to bed. Before they could repeat this pattern for a third time, Oscar answered the loud rapping at their front door. Morris ran to the door as well, but with different expectations.

Oscar feared the return of their parents. Morris missed them deeply.

Instead of the face of their parents, their Uncle stood there. He introduced himself to them. Oscar recognized him, but Morris was too young to remember their uncle. Uncle Wiesel appeared to make an attempt of a smile, but it seemed like he hadn’t practiced that often, looking more akin to a grimace than anything sympathetic. Quick and to the point, he explained that their parents had crashed and that he was told about it not that long afterwards.

“It was a great tragedy,” Uncle Wiesel said.

Morris cried.

Oscar frowned and crossed his thin arms. "What happens now?" he asked.

Their uncle simply explained that they were going to live with him now, that he was their closest living relative and there was no way he was going to let them waste away in a home for orphan boys. The underlying implication of no one wanting to take in Delancey boys remained unspoken, but it was there anyway and Oscar frowned deeper. Nevertheless, he grabbed his brother’s arm and they went around to pack the few things they had.

Oscar and Morris were young and were dealt no small shock when they moved from the countryside to the bustling neighborhood of Manhattan. They would later learn that mornings were hazy and noisy, not dewey and quiet. The Delancey brothers saw more people in their first week in Manhattan than they had seen during their whole life back home. And there were all types of people. And languages the boys couldn’t understand. There were short men with thin eyes who ate with sticks, tall women with lilting accents and dainty smiles, vagabonds of every sort who prowled the street (running off, in more than one occasion, with the wallet of their chosen victim), and couples with fancy clothing and fancy hats.

Oscar was mostly interested in the fancy clothing and the fancy hats.

Morris was mostly interested in candy shop they just passed. They decided to stop at the candy shop.

While inside, Morris was handed some cash and told to “treat himself to whatever he desired” on account of their current situation. Oscar wasn’t hungry at the moment and just wanted to know what to expect.

“We’re staying with you now, Uncle Wiesel," he said. It wasn't a question, but more of a confirmation. 

Their uncle sat across from him at the small table inside the candy shop. The candy shop doubled as a coffee place and their uncle was helping himself to a hot cup of joe. Or, at least he had been. He’d only taken one sip of the coffee before setting it aside, the white steam from the cup almost veiling his wrinkled face.

Uncle Wiesel sighed. “For the foreseeable future, yes. Both Amelia and I believe it to be in your best interest to take you in.”

Oscar couldn’t remember Aunt Amelia’s face, but he’d see her soon enough. “What rules do you have?”

“Rules?”

“Everyone has rules,” Oscar said, folding his fingers together in front of him. He remembered his ears being boxed, his cheeks being slapped, the sting of a belt against his back. “What sort of things should Morris and I look out for to make sure we don’t bother you.”

Uncle Wiesel gave a sad sort of chuckle. “That’s what you’re worried about,  _ boychick _ _?_ On this day of days?" He waved his hand as if dismissing the thought. "Don’t worry yourself about it.”

Oscar frowned, but let it go for now. He was going to find out the rules, the limits. Everyone had limits and he was going to find out what they were. He hated living in the dark about these type of things.

Eventually, Morris came back with two red lollipops in his mouth and a third clutched in his small left fist. He plopped himself down on one of the seats at the table and swung his legs underneath his chair while humming a catchy tune, totally lost in his own little head. Between sips of his coffee, Uncle Wiesel explained the arrangements for tomorrow’s funeral (Oscar couldn’t care less) and how much Aunt Amelia was looking forward to seeing the two of them. Soon, they left the shop and they walked for a while down the street (Morris asked inane questions the whole way down) and they were finally stopped at the apartment that was now their new home.

* * *

 

The funeral the next day felt long and Morris could hardly stand still the entire time, seemingly distracted by every little thing. There were all sorts of people at the funeral, none of whom the boys knew. Apparently, despite their sour nature, the Delancey’s still managed to have acquaintances of a sort (Oscar more suspected that it was a case of trying to save face and appear in a good light, not that they actually ever enjoyed the late couples’ company). Neither of the boys had ever been to a funeral before, so the whole thing was pretty interesting. While bringing the casket to the grave, everyone stopped seven times. There were none of the flowers that Oscar had read about, and people left stones at the site instead. Those gathered at the funeral eventually made two parallel lines allowing for the brothers and their Uncle and Aunt to walk by saying things like “ _Hamokom Yenachem Eschem B'Soch Shaar Aveilei Tzion V'Yerushalayim_ ” and “ _Zulst Mer Nisht Visen Fun Kein Tzaar_ ”, neither of which the boys understood but Uncle Wiesel later told them.

"May God comfort you alongside the mourners of Zion and Jerusalem," he translated. "You should no more know of any sorrow."

Over the next few days, the brothers learned more about this new world. Oscar and Morris were stuck in a perpetual state of awe.

Uncle Wiesel declared that they were deserving of a proper education, one that wasn’t available to them back at their old neighborhood. If he wasn’t schooling them on subjects after his job at the local bookstore, Aunt Amelia was coaching them on their penmanship (as expected, Oscar was better than Morris at this) and their reading comprehension and their mathematics (somehow, Morris was better than Oscar at this). Their Aunt and Uncle treated them to the nicest food the boys had ever tasted, not to mention regular trips to bakeries and candy shops. Aunt Amelia bought the boys fine suits and the brothers were always dressed like regular gentlemen, something their parents couldn't have done. Uncle Wiesel taught them how to speak “proper” so as to avoid any sort of judgement from their peers at their new school. 

Throughout this, Oscar was unable to find out what could possibly cross the lines of what was “okay” and “not okay” to do in the household. Under his instruction, Morris would exaggerate his clumsiness, accidentally pushing over vases and staining carpets. Despite these, the boys were never scolded and never punished and it seemed almost unreal. During the last days of their parents, even breathing incorrectly could warrant a lip-splitting slap.

Oscar may have been mean, but he wasn’t mean without reason. There was absolutely no satisfaction in provoking people who were unable to be provoked. In fact, it was infuriating and he was practically filled to bursting on account of the lack of this outlet.

At least, there was school.

Oscar and Morris loved school.

They attended a public school where the teachers were tough and the children were rowdy. Classroom were filled to capacity and chatter was abundant. Oscar was instantly inclined to taunt his teacher. The teacher was an old bearded man who limped when he walked. His voice was loud and shrill and he mercilessly picked on the seated students to answer his questions. However, Oscar slowly recognized the power he had. Despite his pathetic appearance and reedy shouts, only a mere glance could send chills down the spine of his students.

Oscar admired it.

And even though opportunity after opportunity showed up to make fun of  _ so many things _ about the Mr. Thompson, Oscar kept his mouth shut and his eyes focused. For the next few weeks, he was attentive and studious. He was never caught not knowing an answer and he always made excellent marks. Time passed and he was his teacher’s favorite student.

Soon, Oscar implemented everything he had learned. With what he learned about power, he was able to intimidate his classmates. With a well-practiced glance of his eye, he could garner fear and spare change from his terrified victims. He learned to use his words to send chills down his classmates’ spine outside of school hours. He recruited allies (who called themselves his “friends”, but Oscar didn’t care either way) who would follow him around and fight kids unwilling to submit to his authority. 

And if he were ever accused of hurting any of those kids, he wore a well-practiced smile and denied the all accusations (while also threatening the accusers outside of the faculty’s earshot). And he was always believed because who could imagine a nice boy like Oscar Delancey hurting anybody?

Time passed and the boys grew. Morris grew taller than Oscar (much to his constant irritation), and stronger too. Morris joked that he took after their stocky mother in build while Oscar got all of their father’s lankiness. They grew into nice boys, good boys, boys who always excelled and complemented others and were punctual and dressed sharp. They were the very picture of decent young men and their Uncle and Aunt couldn’t be prouder.

Oscar’s gang grew as well, evolving over time to fit his needs. Petty crime was committed here and there by the large group of teenagers, as well as the occasional having their way with random women they came across on the street. Money was never hard to come across, what with the young men robbing unsuspecting passersby blind and bribing classmates out of unfortunate situations. They had their fun, in Oscar’s opinion, especially whenever participating in gambling games and treating themselves to a night in a whorehouse (a trip Morris would tag along to whenever it came up).

It was easy to live by twos. Playing the part of good boys in the eyes of their schoolmasters and Uncle and Aunt was easy. Misadventures with the gang he ran was even easier. The brothers were able to learn about and hone their strengths. Morris’ build helped him a lot. He was the brawn, all muscle, and was more than capable of turning any random object into a weapon. Oscar was the brain, able to charm himself out of all sticky situations with his pleasant smile. However, Oscar never felt remorse for his terrible actions. Morris might have had morals that kept him from going too far, but Oscar never had such qualms. Sometimes, the stakes grew high and even Morris would decided that killing someone wasn’t worth the potential reward, but Oscar found that breaking someone’s neck weighed no more heavily on his soul than cracking open a chestnut.

Over time, however, the brothers grew out of their childish antics. They graduated their school, receiving a number of praise from their teachers. When Morris graduated, Oscar sat among the audience and watched as a number of the younger students breathed a collective sigh of relief knowing that the Delanceys were finally done terrorizing their school.

From there, it was off to university where whispers of the “Volstead Act” were neverending.

* * *

 

“As Prohibition Agents, you represent the finest America has to offer," Chief Investigator Daugherty was saying on the stage before them in front of Oscar. Oscar was standing at attention along with the rest of the graduating men, unwilling to show any outward signs of nervousness. He'd been waiting for this moment for months and now he was finally going to be a Prohibition Agent. At the corner of his eye, he saw Morris standing at attention beside him. Oscar risked a glance and looked his brother in the eye for a second before winking and allowing a small smirk. His brother nodded back, a slight smile gracing his face.

"The first line of defense in the war against illegal liquor,” he continued. “Stout-hearted men, centurions for the modern age, unswerving in duty and incorruptible in character." The man paused, looking at the number of men standing below him. “Raise your right hand.”

Oscar and Morris raised their right hand, along with all the other men in the room. 

"I--"

“I,” the men repeated in a unified voice.

“State your name.”

The men stated their names in an incomprehensible noise. 

"Do so solemnly swear--"

“Do so solemnly swear.”

"To uphold the laws of the Constitution of the United States--"

"To uphold the laws of the Constitution of the United States.”

"To root out criminality in all forms--"

"To root out criminality in all forms.”

"And vigorously uphold all laws--"

"And vigorously uphold all laws.”

The brothers continued to repeat the words until the Chief Inspector was done, congratulating the men on becoming full-fledged prohibition agents. From then, hands were shaken and backs were slapped and the brothers smiled at each other, excited for what was soon to come.

Not even a few days later, they were given their first assignments. Morris was off to investigate rumors of a still somewhere out in the countryside while Oscar’s team was given an anonymous tip about some alcohol business being conducted in the Lower East Side.

"It's disgraceful," the woman had told him in his office in a thick accent. She gave her name as Mrs. Shannon and was ugly, in Oscar's opinion. The broad was a mick, with bushy brown eyebrows, deep wrinkles, and a large brown mole on her left cheek. She somehow looked both young and old at the same time which was a shame. She had nice eyes though, but it wasn't enough to save the rest of her appearance. "As you know, I'm a member of the Temperance League and I couldn't, in good conscious, watch this happen in my neighborhood." She shook her head. "For God's sake, there are children who could see it."

"Did you get a good look at those handling the alcohol, ma'am?" Oscar asked.

"Heaven's no. They might've been armed. You've read about all the violence in the papers."

Her mole had a thick hair sticking out of it. "Yes, I've heard."

"It wasn't my place to interfere."

"Of course, ma'am," he agreed, smiling.

And then the woman left, saying she needed to check up on her mother. After she closed the door behind her, Oscar frowned.

Fucking alcohol.

The Volstead Act was a double-edged sword, he would later learn. At the beginning, he sided with the Temperance Movement. Of course, he despised alcohol. Of course, the childhood he and his brother shared turned him off to that bitter drink. But the country became thirsty and people were determined to do what they had always done, unwilling to follow the law of the land. 

Fucking bootleggers.

So, Oscar and two other agents set off. There names were Mr. Kasper and Mr. Weiner and they were good agents, but Oscar yearned for the exciting company of his school pals that followed him to event after exciting event. These men were far from exciting. Quick to follow orders, yes. But they both had the personality of lukewarm milk.

They sat in a car parked in the neighborhood, aiming to look as nonchalant as they could. They followed the address the woman had given him and now they just waited.

"Why don't we just go inside now?" Mr. Kasper stupidly asked.

"Because we want to arrest the men, not just confiscate the liquor," Oscar explained. "Two birds with one stone, yes?"

"Suppose no one comes. The what?" Mr. Weiner idiotically speculated.

"Then we wait until they do show up, Mr. Weiner. We are Agents of the Internal Revenue and if we need to wait, we will wait."

Eventually, the blue sky turned purple and then to black and it seemed as though there would be no sign of the men that Mrs. Shannon spoke so passionately against. 

"Hey," Mr. Weiner whispered, pointing outside the window. Before him, lights from a car appeared and the another group of men appeared out of the darkness near the location of the house that the alcohol was said to be held in. Three men exited the car. The agents couldn't see much of their faces on account of the darkness mostly obscuring it, save for the moments that they stepped in front of the car's headlights. One man caught Oscar's attention. Even in the darkness, he could practically feel the scowl on his face. He lit his cigarette and gestured the garage of the house. The other men who had seemingly appeared from the general area of the house were talking with them loudly, almost like it was some argument.

"Now?" Mr. Kasper wondered.

"No."

Then, two things happened in conjunction. While the men opened the garage (Oscar could see wooden crates inside), the gun of one of the men who came from the car went off for seemingly no reason. The agents heard someone loudly say "Fuck!"

"Now," Oscar said.

"All due respect, sir," Mr. Kasper started. "But we're outnumbered."

_Grow a pair,_ Oscar thought. "We are special agents of the Bureau of Internal Revenue, Agent Kasper. Do not make the mistake of thinking that we are, in any way, at a disadvantage."  


The agents exited the car and rushed the scene, guns aimed at the bootleggers. "This is a raid!" Oscar shouted. "You are all hereby under arrest for violation of the Volstead Act! We will shoot if you resist arrest."

A number of curses filled the air, followed shortly by a multitude of gunshots. Oscar shot one of the bootleggers, his head exploding into a scarlet spray of blood and brain. He shot another in the stomach, a thrill of satisfaction filling him as he watched the criminal crumple to the ground, the blood of the wound spreading throughout his shirt.

Outside the scene of the shooting, Oscar could see someone exit their home to the noise coming from their neighborhood. Oscar hadn't the patience to tell them to stay in their homes, these things weren't entertainment for the curious masses. If they got hurt, oh well.

"Shit!" Oscar turned to see Mr. Kasper fall to the ground, screaming while he grabbed his bleeding stomach. 

_Not as good as an agent as I thought, apparently_ , Oscar mused before continuing the shooting.  


"Mr. Wiener," he shouted. "Go inside and secure the contraband inside that garage." As he watched Mr. Wiener run to the garage, Oscar noticed the scowling man take aim at him.

It didn't even take a second for Oscar to aim his gun at the man and pull the trigger. The bullet tore through the man's leg and Oscar waited in anticipation for the scream that he expected would tear out of the man's throat.

No such scream came. Instead, the man was helped to his feet by two of his accomplices and they dragged him from the ground and into the car. 

Oscar continued to shoot at the car as it sped away. It quickly disappeared into the night and he let himself feel momentarily disappointed by the loss of three criminals. Then again, they had shot a number of the men who were managing the alcohol in the garage and he walked until he was standing over a groaning man wearing a flat cap. The man was bleeding from a stomach gunshot wound and Oscar knelt down, freeing a pair of handcuffs from his back pocket. He tsked as the man cried and he grabbed the man's bloody hands before securing them in the cuffs. 

"It's the price you pay," Oscar said. "A terribly price."

"Fuck you!" the man shouted as best he could.

In response, Oscar pressed his hand into the man's wound. The man twisted and sobbed and cursed and pleaded and Oscar smiled.

"Agent Delancey!" he heard Mr. Weiner shout from inside the garage. Oscar stood, not before wiping his sticky red hands onto the wounded man's jacket. He stood to his feet just as Mr. Weiner poked his head out the door. "We got a lot in here. There's gotta be hundreds of cases in here."  


"Tag it, catalog it, and destroy it," Oscar ordered.

"Holy hell," he heard Mr. Weiner say. Oscar saw the man stare down at the body of Mr. Kasper.

"He perished while defending the Constitution," Oscar stated, staring at his partner. "And he'll still be there once you're done finishing your task. I'll go make a call for backup help."

Mr. Weiner numbly nodded and went back inside the garage.

Oscar turned on his heels, heading to the house of the person who had left their home to watch the carnage unfold. They probably had a phone.

As he walked closer to the house, he didn't see the person. Oscar supposed they went back inside.

They didn't. For as Oscar walked up the steps to their front door, he stared down at the lifeless body of ugly Mrs. Shannon who had somehow fallen victim to a stray bullet. Oscar shook his head before nudging her aside with his shoe so he could open the door to her house and find a phone. The blood from where she got shot in the neck formed a dark puddle around her head and Oscar couldn't avoid stepping on it while he walked inside, leaving bloody footprints on her hardwood floor.

_ Oh well. _

**Author's Note:**

> also, i just figured the delanceys were jewish because of their uncle (and yeah, my headcanon is that they're not blood relations, but it's close to the turn of the century and people tended to group together based on shared customs/beliefs so if wiesel (who's jewish) was a family friend, that points to the delanceys being jewish as well.
> 
> also also, i'm not jewish At All so i researched about the funeral customs and i hope they're accurate lol
> 
> also also also, I considered adding actual period-typical antisemitism, but I wasn't sure if it would be my place considering I'm other jewish. I might rewrite this in places to show that, but again *shrug emoji*


End file.
